Chapter Text
This is the story of how I died.
Okay, maybe that’s a bad way to start this.
It’s not just the story of how I died. Because that would be boring and short. Here, I’ll write that story for you, too: everything hurt, then everything hurt in a different way and I was scared and then there was nothing. And I’m really, really fucking sorry, Darius.
There.
That’s the story.
So, this isn’t just the story of how I died. It’s the story of why I died, and maybe I’m trying to apologise to a certain someone that you’ve probably already guessed. It’s the story of why I chose to die, and how I fell in love. There. That’s a better opening. Now, you can’t get angry at me because I duped you.
“Petrification is ancient magic,” says Pyre, sixteen and trying to hide his awe, “It’s claimed to have been forgotten. How did you rediscover it?”
Belos continues welding his staff, humming to himself. Pyre can see the fine lines of his jaw meshing together in the way he does when he has to think about his wording. He usually doesn’t do that face around Pyre, and briefly, he wonders if he’s said something wrong and what the consequences will be.
“An old friend,” answers Belos. “An old friend taught me. I don’t know if she intended to, but she worked primarily with undoing ancient spells for a period in her career. She’s not here anymore. She’s helped me more than she will ever know.”
There’s an unidentifiable gleam in Belos’ eyes, somewhere walking the line between rueful and lingering.
“I’m sorry.”
It’s the only thing that seems right to say. Pyre thinks about how he would be if he lost Darius, and he knows that it would be much worse than his uncle is now.
“I’d appreciate if you didn’t ask more of the details.”
“Understood.”
And he does.
He does.